


Through the Looking-Glass (And What Harry Found There)

by Badam_Luumsss



Series: Through the Looking-Glass (And What Harry Found There) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, F/M, Gay Sex, Heterosexual Sex, Light Angst, Light Bondage, M/M, Magical Accidents, Male Slash, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Oral Sex, Rimming, Secret Identity, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badam_Luumsss/pseuds/Badam_Luumsss
Summary: After an accident in the Department of Mysteries, Harry is turned into a female version of himself for a few weeks. When he has to work with Draco Malfoy who doesn’t have a clue who he really is, Harry realizes the man is very far from what he believed him to be.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Through the Looking-Glass (And What Harry Found There) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754506
Comments: 26
Kudos: 266





	Through the Looking-Glass (And What Harry Found There)

# Chapter 1

The weirdest part isn’t his chest and the feel of those squishy things that wobble weirdly at his every move, no it’s his voice, reflects Harry. Those high-pitched weird shrieks that have nothing to do with his usual coarse rumble. They fill the room as he shouts his lungs out at his unlucky audience but Harry almost feels like it’s someone else’s screams. Bloody hell, this is so weird. It doesn’t stop Harry from venting his frustration on his friends, though. He knows he will regret it later but right now he needs that.

At first Hermione has the decency to look sorry but his rant probably pissed her off somewhere in the last thirty minutes because now, her arms are crossed, she regularly huffs at the stupidest parts of his tirade and glares through the window.

Ron looks as if he has been struck by lightning; he’s even gaping and apparently cannot stop staring at Harry, which riles him up even more.

Hermione has clearly gotten use to Harry’s tantrum over the four hectic years they had after the end of the war and picked up a thing or two along the way. When Harry finally stops to get some air into his lungs she stands smartly and raises a brow at him, her face grim and determined.

“Are you done?” she asks sternly, her hazel stare as piercing as McGonagall’s. For a moment, Harry feels like he’s eleven again. He certainly feels as lost and clueless as he was at the time. Then again, since the war the feeling has become quite familiar.

“Not even close” he mutters petulantly but the fire is gone, now he just feels numb, defeated and exhausted.

“Well, too bad” Hermione says curtly “I saw Kingsley. He told me a few details about the… “incident” and Unspeakables think you should revert back to you normal state in a few weeks”

“Weeks???” Harry squeaks with that weird voice. He sighs and presses the heels of his hands on his eyes, pushing away his glasses. “What am I going to do?”

“Kingsley and I talked about it and we thought about something. We’re very well aware of the fact that if he casts you out of the DMLE to wait at Grimmauld until this all blows over, you’re likely to blow up half the block and yourself with it”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence…” says Harry bleakly, feeling a tad indignant. He’s a bloody Auror for fuck’s sake, he can take care of himself, thank you very much. But the prospect of hiding out in the dingy house with Kreattur’s weekly visits as sole company is daunting enough for him to keep his mouth shut.

Hermione ignores his childish comment and goes on, as per usual, explaining their plan.

“So, I’ve only been a girl for two hours and I’m already demoted and supposed to be a rookie now. Well, I do understand better the fight for women rights and gender equality” Harry sighs.

Hermione doesn’t answer but her rosy cheeks are enough. Ron, in a rare and unsettling physical display of sympathy, hugs him and Harry knows in this very instant that he is indeed utterly doomed.

“Fucking hell, this is going to be a bloody nightmare”

* * *

Hermione has helped him sort out the clothe issue. She lent him a few of her clothes and helped him transfigure his own so he is now the distraught owner of several panties and bras. Hermione probably took pity on him though, she only gave him the simple kind: plain, black, practical cotton things. Harry doesn’t think he could have handled lacy-sexy lingerie without running screaming. A fact that Hermione has seemed to be thankfully very aware of. Since he is supposed to be —sigh— a junior Auror again, he can’t wear torn old jeans and tatty faded t-shirts under his Auror robes; which Hermione has diplomatically referred to as his ‘usual choice of clothing’. She has tried her best to transfigure the few suits and work clothes he has and provided several things of her own without so much as a mention of the forbidden words ‘dress’, ‘skirt’ or worst of all, ‘tights’.

Harry still isn’t happy about the fact that he has to wear shirts and normal trousers but Hermione and him compromised on the boots. Heels were absolutely out of the question and the alternatives made him want to puke, a fact that he made no secret of, resulting in the first eye-roll he ever saw coming from Hermione. Ever.

His best friend explored the other practical aspects of his condition as thoroughly as the rest. Harry and her had “the talk” —one of the most awkward experiences of his life, and that meant topping Cho Chang at Madam Pudifoot’s and Moaning Myrtle in the bathroom in fourth year for fuck’s sake— so now Harry considers himself fully briefed on periods, PMS, hormonal spikes and other things of the like he never suspected existed. He firmly drew the line to the sex though; it hardly seems likely he will pop that cherry anytime soon.

Kingsley informed him that he made it look like Harry had been assigned to an urgent undercover mission, warranting the transfer of a new recruit from Wales to handle his paperwork and low-level duties. It was suspicious but Kingsley had firmly impressed upon Robards that any indiscretion regarding Harry’s absence would likely put his mission in jeopardy. His “replacement” was presented as a political move to appease high-level officials. Sure, it was clever and explained everything but Harry was already sick of getting a preferential treatment and he doesn’t relish the idea of all his colleagues taking him for the daughter of some well-connected bigwig with deep pockets.

Still, there is nothing he can do about it, so he just tries not to ground his teeth on it too much. Spoiler alert: it’s already a lost battle. But hey, at least he’s persistent.

# Chapter 2

Harry is pissed. Magic-out-of-control-whirling-around-him pissed. First and foremost, he’s pissed at himself. Why did he have to go to the Department of Mysteries and get himself blasted with an unknown curse? Why did he? He could just have waited for the bloody report on the bloody cursed object he had found on the bloody scene of the bloody —quite literally unfortunately— murder he was investigating.

But no, he had to go there, he had to get in Parson’s office and he had to get himself cursed into a girl until further notice. That’s apparently just how his life was supposed to be. Never fucking easy.

And now, on top of this already gigantic steaming pile of shit, he has to go to Draco sodding Malfoy —of all people!— for his first assignment. He has apparently been made liaison between him and the Aurors for the unforeseeable future. Just great.

Harry clenches his fists, his mails leaving angry red indents in the skin of his palms.

 _He won’t know it’s you_ , he repeats himself desperately. Though he wouldn’t put past the bugger to see through his appearance. The man has always had a knack to sniff whatever Harry is hiding. Or he had at Hogwarts anyway. Even if he doesn’t anymore, it won’t take him a minute to connect the dots if Harry steps inside his office with his magic acting like a fricking tornado Wizard-of-Oz-style.

So he sucks in deep breaths, trying to rein in his magic and steady his raging pulse. But when he stops in front of his office on the Department for Experimental Magic’s level and sees the sign on the door, the reality finally sinks in.

_D. A. Malfoy_

_Department of Experimental Magic_

_Specialized Engineer_

He takes a fortifying breath and knocks then waits, heart hammering his ribs. _For God’s sake, he fought a fucking Dragon and a shitload of Dark Wizards before he was even eighteen, he won’t be reduced to a pile of quivering jelly by a blond snarky git cause this is just not on!_

“Come in” says a muffled voice from within.

“Morituri te salutant” Harry mutters darkly and pushes the door.

He takes in the spacious room with tall enchanted windows, a simple desk with two chairs and large tables in dark solid wood. Malfoy is hunched over one of these and at Harry’s greatest surprise, he’s wielding a screwdriver over a mess of wires and metal frames, half hidden behind the device. Only a mop of white-blond hair and the hand clutching the screwdriver are visible.

“Please sit down, I’ll be right with you” Malfoy says in his sharp accent without looking up.

Harry does, dumbstruck, and fidgets uncomfortably with his unfamiliar clothes.

A moment later, Malfoy stands and shrugs off his blouse. He’s wearing a grey waistcoat and trousers and seeing Malfoy in a Muggle suit is all kinds of weird. His crisp white shirt is impeccably pressed with the sleeves rolled above the elbows.

The years —and a mad manipulative father out of his hair in house arrest— have been good to him. He looks taller, more confident and accomplished. He has filled out since the trials and has grown into his pointy features. Malfoy’s still as sharp and pale but in an elegant and ethereal posh sort of way.

Malfoy removes his complicated-looking goggles equipped with some kind of magnifying contraption that made his look like the mad scientists on the telly from when Harry was a child, tousling his sleek white strands doing so. The tall blond run his hands through it to try and tame it back and Harry catches a glimpse of scar tissue on his forearm, tracing the outline of the Dark Mark. It has faded but it’s still there and it’s a sobering thought.

Malfoy finally reaches the desk and set intent grey eyes on Harry who has conflicting thoughts about the easy expression of the Slytherin. He displays nothing more than polite interest but Harry has never seen him so open before. To him anyway.

They have crossed paths in the Ministry and managed to be civil but Malfoy always looks so stiff and guarded, shuttered away behind that cold aristocratic façade of his. Harry is suddenly reminded of Malfoy at his trial. He looked like a wreck then, hollow and starved, broken. Though Harry is hardly the one to talk on the matter. They had exchanged a few stilted and awkward words after Harry had delivered his testimony in favour of Malfoy and his mother. He had given him back his wand and thanked him. The Slytherin had looked startled and thanked him back for the fire and his testimony.

“May I help you?” Malfoys says and cuts through his bleak reminiscence, catching Harry off guard.

“K… Potter sent me to work with you on the series of projects for the Auror Bureau.”

“Oh, yes, Kinglsey did mention it” he smiles “ ‘Potter’, uh?” he smirks “Not a fan of the Saviour, I take it?”

“Oh give me a break with these bollocks” Harry groans before he can stop himself. He freezes.

Malfoy arches a brow critically then bursts out laughing. It’s so unexpected that Harry almost jumps. He would have imagined Malfoy to have a snobbish and pretentious laugh but the sound spilling out of the man is bright and rich, genuine. It’s rather pleasant, actually. Harry shakes himself internally.

“Come on, he can’t be that bad” says Malfoy when his laugh finally dies out. His grey eyes are sparkling with mirth and they look like molten silver.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Harry blurts out faintly and curses himself for his stupidity.

But Malfoy just shakes his head with a light smile and holds his hand.

“I’m Draco Malfoy, I don’t believe we’ve met?” he says smoothly and Harry hates him a little.

 _If only you knew_ , he thinks but he is soon hit with the fact that he has no clue how he is supposed to introduce himself, he hasn’t thought about an alias and this is beyond stupid. _A fine Auror you are_ , he castigates himself while searching frantically for a convincing name.

“Evans!” he exclaims victoriously at the first name that goes through his head.

 _Now quick, a first name… What girl first names does he know?_ Hermione is the first that comes to mind but for obvious reasons, that won’t do… _What is Hermione’s second name again? Jane no…_ “Jean, Jean Evans” Harry exclaims and takes Malfoy’s hand after a second too long. If he looks like a lunatic, Malfoy doesn’t comment, surely on account of his perfect pureblood manners.

“Nice to meet you and thank you for offering to help me on this project. See, I’ve been thinking about making artefacts that could help Aurors on the line of duty but I need help with the practicalities. I don’t want them to become a liability if there was something impractical in the design.”

“Oh. That's’ actually a very good idea So you want to be our ‘Q’ then?” asks Harry without thinking then adds quickly “Sorry it’s a mugg-”

“I’m perfectly aware of who James Bond is, miss Evans” Malfoy cuts him grandly but in spite of the venom Harry expects, it’s more like a gentle tease. Harry winces at the title, though.

“Could you loose the ‘miss’, I feel like I’m in school all over again” he asks and avoids they inquisitive grey eyes.

“How should I call you then?”

“ ‘Evans’ or ‘Jean’ is fine”

“Very well, _Jean_ , as long as you call me Draco, of course” he answers with a pleasant grin and Harry is purely and utterly lost.

* * *

“ _What. The. Actual. Ever-loving. Fucking. Fuck.”_ is what Harry is thinking when he gets out of Malfoy’s office. Never in a million years he would have thought he could have spent two hours in a room with Draco blasting Malfoy without one of them ending up permanently incapacitated. His mind is still reeling from that major glitch in the matrix.

In the end they’d agreed to work together on the new line of strategical artefacts every Wednesday and Friday afternoon and Harry is astonished to realize that he’s actually not dreading the prospect that much. It is interesting work.

And the git has indeed changed in the last few years, he reflects. Hermione may have mentioned this to him in passing at some point but he hadn’t given it much thought until now. First, because Hermione is sometimes too eager to see the good. That’s why they need her in the Ministry, he thinks fondly. And second because it was Malfoy she was talking about. As far as Harry was concerned, if he was aware that the youngest Malfoy wasn’t the evil bastard everyone made him out to be, he was still a slimy bigoted and snobbish git. But maybe he had been too quick to judge.

He had known teenage Malfoy like few people probably ever had. He had followed him, analysed and studied his every moves for hours on end; seen him through Voldemort’s eyes in what was probably a few instances of his worst moments and had been present for another couple ones that had given him a new light in Harry’s eyes —like in the Manor or in the Room of Requirements— but now, Harry has to admit he obviously knows nothing about the man Malfoy became and he can’t figure out why but the idea rattles him somewhere deep.

# Chapter 3

After the first week, Harry is not ready to blow up his house but he would be happy to extend the courtesy to the Ministry and all the pillocks currently working inside it. Starting with his best friend.

“It’s so weird, mate” muses the redhead. They must be at their fourth round; his blue eyes are starting to get glassy and his mouth a bit slack.

Harry clenches his teeth. It’s probably the billionth time Ron has said the words and he wants to throttle the moron but in a valiant effort, he pushes away the urge to strangle his best friend in the middle of a pub and shrugs moodily.

“I mean, it’s weird and not weird at the same time” he reflects “it’s like you have a twin sister that is you… but not really…”

 _Oh great_ , Harry had forgotten four-pints-Ron is chatty-Ron. It’s still better than six-pints-Ron, though. Harry shudders at the memory of a sappy Ron crying on his shoulder and telling Harry insistently how much he loves him and “Harmyionnne” in long, inflamed speeches with unnecessary and highly disturbing metaphors.

“I mean, you’re still you, and you say the exact same things but you’re a _girl_.”

Harry rolls his eyes and wonders if he’s sober enough to apparate home. It’s been a hell of a long week. On the other hand, he could use a dozen shots of Firewhisky to forget all this mess.

The stares must be the worst. Harry is used to being stared at. At work, at the pub with Ron and Hermione, in Diagon Alley with Dean and Seamus or when he visits George, at the park when he’s with Teddy. Hell, Harry’s even used to being harassed, reporters sure are a wild bunch and there is nothing they wouldn’t do to get his mug on the papers under a juicy headline. The crazy stalkers are bad too. Once, one of them had even Polyjuiced as Ginny and tried to make a pass at him.

Since they had amicably decided that getting back together would be a very bad idea after the War, he had nearly had a heart attack, then quickly body-bound the girl and questioned her. He is an Auror after all.

So yeah, you could say Harry is used to unwanted attention. He had thought that at least, not being treated like Harry Potter would be a relief but he isn’t so sure now.

Being a girl sucks. The constant stares at his ass or breasts, the way creeps look at him like eye-candy and call him ‘honey or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’ with this disgusting tone, or the way everyone thinks he is something delicate that’s about to break, blergh. He is sick of it. Harry has to constantly restrain himself so as not to punch or hex the guys who have wandering hands or make lewd comments, and it has only been a week. How on earth can women stand this on a daily basis without hexing everyone’s balls off?

The fact that his two appointments with Malfoy were the highlight of his week is a testament to the utter shittiness of said week. And it is depressing. Okay the git is civil enough, but it’s still Malfoy.

“Come on, mate, you look like someone kicked your Crup” Ron says with an encouraging wobbly smile.

“I’m glad the week is over… I don’t think I could have stood Fitzwilliam’s one second more before biting his head off…” Harry grumbles darkly. “I mean what’s with the constant ogling? Has he never seen a girl or what? Merlin that guy is slimy…”

“Well, to be fair, you’re kind off… you know” Ron points out hesitantly, avoiding Harry’s stare.

“I’m what?” asks Harry with a dark tone, his temper flaring.

“You know… attractive” Ron awkwardly, draining his pint in one go and rising to his feet to get another round, his cheeks a flaming red.

“Make that Firewhisky” says Harry faintly when his jaw has stopped falling on the ground “And bring the bottle!” he exclaims on second thought. If his best mate starts finding him hot, Harry thinks he’s at least entitled to a serious crapulence.

* * *

A few hours and countless glasses of amber-steaming alcohol later, Ron and Harry are stumbling and giggling in the night, so thoroughly sloshed they don’t even feel the biting cold.

“So, eh mate, have you tried it? Ron asks with a distinct slur and a conspiratorial glint in his eyes Harry doesn’t quite like the look of.

“Tried what?”

“Ahhh come ooooonnn, you know what ‘m talkin’ aboouuuuut” he insists but Harry’s confused look spurs him on to specify “you know, wanking!”

“What???” Harry lets out in an undignified squeak.

“Don’t be like that, it’s supposed to be so much better for girls… I mean when Hermione and I-”

But Harry cuts him off with all the firmness he can muster when his heart pumps more whisky than blood in his veins.

“Woah woah woah, stop right there! I don’t want to know anything about my best friends’ sex life, thank you very much! I’m scarred enough as it is” exclaims Harry.

“Oh come on, it’s all right, we’re best mates!” slurs Ron happily.

“Oh and I’m sure you would be thrilled to know all the details about me shagging blokes, eh?” Harry says snarkily without his usual restraint. Damn, he _is_ sloshed.

Harry has come out to Ron and Hermione a few years ago and it went well enough, though fairly awkward at first. But Ron never mentioned it again and Harry doesn’t know what he really thinks about his best friend liking blokes, so he never talked about it after that either. But for the second time that night, the redhead’s answer leaves him utterly gobsmacked.

“I wouldn’t mind that much” Ron shrugs “ ’s long as you’re happy y’know” he pauses and seems to seriously consider the question. “I mean ‘t would be a bit weird after seein’ you with Ginny, but I wouldn’t mind. It was already weird with Ginny anyway” a drunken smile plays on his lips “and it’s not as if you’ve been busy on that front, eh?”

“Sod off! Not everyone’s lucky enough to shack up with his best friend, you tosser” says Harry and gives his shoulder a playful shove that makes him stumble.

“You’re right, I’m soooooooo lucky” Ron sighs contentedly “I mean she’s so smart, Harry! She could be the bloody Minister, y’know?”

“Yeah, she definitely could” Harry agrees, overwhelmed by pride mixing with the pleasant buzz of alcohol. Turns out bazillion-pints-Harry is a happy sentimental sap too.

* * *

When Harry finally reaches Grimmauld Place, he nearly collapses when he trips on the troll-leg umbrella-stand and it reminds him of Tonks. He chuckles fondly, too plastered to get the sharp pang of grief and guilt he always feels when he thinks about all the people that were left behind.

Staggering and almost on all fours, Harry climbs the stairs to his room and takes a critical look at himself in the mirror. He hasn’t properly looked since the “incident”, too afraid of what he would see and that it would make it real. But now his courage is finally showing up, albeit in a liquid alcoholic form, and he studies himself. It does make it real. Strikingly so.

The young woman who looks back in the mirror still looks a lot like him but after Hermione’s clever alterations, you really need to know it’s Harry. His eyes are blue for one and Hermione transfigured his old glasses in stylish rectangular black frames that make him look smart and bookish rather than like a 1970’s historian. The scar on his forehead is gone and he has mixed feelings about it.

 _In for a knut_ , Harry thinks and takes a deep breath before undressing himself, leaving only the knickers.

His skin has the same golden tone and the scar on his chest is still there, as well as all the others silver marks he got in the last years in the line of duty. Harry traces them to ground himself.

He still has a lean and long frame but with discreet curves. His hips are slightly wider but still quite narrow for a girl. His breasts are small but round with a darker shade around the nipple, they look firm but Harry has trouble looking at those. It’s as if he was caught staring at someone in the shower, this body doesn’t feel like his but someone else’s.

To distract himself from it, he focuses on the rest. His shoulders are rather wide and the curve of his arms looks softer. Generally speaking, his body is much less angular. His muscles are defined but not as wiry as they used to. His legs are long and slender, very feminine and the hairs on it are so fine that he almost can’t see them.

When he goes back to his face, he finds blue eyes looking at him intently. They still have the almond shape he inherited from his mother and the thought comforts him. His nose is straight but shorter, his cheekbones don’t stand out as much and his chin and jaws are sharp but not as square and chiselled than they used to.

His hair looks the same though maybe a bit silkier; they are still short, spiky and messy. Harry feels a tinge of contentment at the thought that even Hermione couldn’t tame them with her magic. Like when he was a child, they instantly went back to their previous form when she tried to make them grow longer. The Auror feels lucky he doesn't have to handle long hair on top of everything else. He suspects it would have been a treat on its own.

Harry chuckles at the memory of Hermione’s discomfited expression at the capillary-rebuff. He turns away from the mirror and sways a bit, the Firewhisky is still blazing its way through him and he knows with certainty he’s going to be sick tomorrow, very very sick. But he doesn’t care. “And that’s the magic of being bloody plastered” he advises his bed eruditely before crashing on it in an unceremonious heap. He takes off his remaining clothes and summons a pair of ragged pyjamas. Harry puts them on and slips under the covers delightedly.

Ron’s words come back to him in the intimacy of his own dark bedroom.

‘ _It’s supposed to be so much better for girls…’_

“Bollocks” he says out loud petulantly. But he’s starting to get curious. It would be stupid not to at least try it, right? Anyway, if Parson’s words are anything to go by, he should be stuck with a vagina for several weeks at the least and he can’t just not wank for the whole time now, can he?

He’s only human. And horny. And sex-deprived. And currently drunk.

So in the end, Harry does exactly what any drunk young man stuck in a girl’s body and ill-advised by his bets-mate would do: he tries it.

He slips a hand already clammy with anticipation in his loose pyjama trousers and brushes delicately the tender flesh between his legs, mapping the soft curves and gasping at the sudden spikes of pleasure that swell with heat from head to toe. A few moments of frantic exploration later he tilts his head back, arch his body and cry out as his orgasm hits him by surprise. He stays still, panting in the dark and says faintly:

“Bloody hell.”

# Chapter 4

In the following weeks, Harry tries to settle in his new routine. He’s still disgusted by the leering bastards and he’s about to die of boredness since he’s more on less on desk duties until his _case_ is sorted out.

He still feels like he’s wearing someone else’s body and it still feels wrong, especially his voice. Sometimes he forgets and catches a glimpse of his feminine body in a window or a mirror and it hits him again. He doesn’t feel like he could ever get used to it but he’s not freaking out anymore. And it is nice to be able to go wherever he wants without being mobbed, leery stares or not.

Hermione assures him that she’s working with Parson to find a quicker way to revert him back to his old self and it’s small but still a comfort. It’s Hermione and she has been sorting him out of his messes for almost fifteen years now.

Another surprising comfort is his time with Malfoy. The tall blond has become ‘Draco’ at some point and every Wednesday and Friday, he finds himself counting the hours until their allotted time slots.

It’s still a shock when he gets in the office and Draco greets him with a small but friendly smile though. But Harry is enjoying working with him on those crazy devices, testing them out and burning the furniture like two weird versions of Seamus Finnigan: one female and clueless, one posh and way too clever for it’s own good.

Because Draco is clever, he may even get Hermione a run for her money one of these days. Shame he was too busy being a nuisance at school, it would’ve been fun to see them fight over grades and not Draco’s usual bigoted comments.

Harry would be happy if the git was less perceptive though. Harry is always afraid to blurt out something stupid that would get him busted in a matter of seconds, Auror training or not.

It isn’t anything like being on the field under Polyjuice or any other disguise; there he is always wary, constant vigilance and whatnot. With Draco, the problem is he isn’t wary at all. He is feeling more and more at ease, enjoying the friendly banter and the easy companionable silence when they are working together.

Harry starts to like the way Draco is always trying to be carefully detached about everything but slips more and more. Or maybe Harry is just getting better at getting a read out of him.

Trouble is, it works both ways. Harry is trying to be careful but he knows it is only a matter of time before he blows it. And what is he going to do if he does, he has no idea. Probably get away quickly before being permanently injured. Harry studiously avoids any personal subject but sometimes he can’t help it. Like this time for instance.

“Merlin, you’re such a Slytherin…” sighs Harry after he has been manoeuvred once too many by the foxy blond.

“Well spotted. Though it is quite common knowledge that I was” he says with a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What about you, huh?” Draco says briskly, raising a brow speculatively. He walks around Harry slowly, appraising him from head to toe like a horse that’s up for sale.

“Erm..” says Harry very eloquently, swallowing hard.

“You’re way too devious and twisted for a Hufflepuff” his tone is appreciative.

“Thanks I guess…?” Draco ignores him.

“I don’t see you in Ravenclaw. Much too eccentric”

“I’m sorry, have you met Luna?” Harry knows he has made a mistake the second the words get out of his mouth but he cannot take them back. Draco’s gaze sharpens and a wolfish grin that does strange things to his stomach stretches the pale lips.

“Fair point. So you were in Hogwarts around the time she was then, I gather”

“Maybe” says Harry warily.

“I figured as much, since you look around her age” he pauses and reflects for a moment.

“Still, I don’t picture you in Ravenclaw, you’re a bit of an incarnation of chaos if I’m being honest” he teases gently and smirks.

“Eh! Not everyone is a control freak you know” Harrys answers with an offended tone.

“Hmmm” Draco says, obviously not convinced.

He chuckles while his eyes narrow and takes a step closer, sending thrills of apprehension and something else that isn’t entirely unpleasant down Harry’s spine.

“Gryffindor? No, you couldn’t think so poorly of Potter if you were” he muses aloud, missing the panicked glance Harry throws him and how he freezes suddenly.

“Maybe I was in his House and realized he was a git?”

“Come on, even Slytherins admired him in some regards. At least for his Quidditch, Merlin the git could fly. Not to mention how all the girls were following him like enamoured Crups” he smiles sadly “And he did save us all, annoying blubbering reckless buffoon or not” Draco adds softly, he seems far away, looking into space. In this instant, Harry wishes he could use Legilimency and find out what he’s thinking. He doesn’t answer, afraid he might spill the beans.

Draco seems to shake himself and his cheeks sport the faintest blush. He clears his throat.

“I don’t remember you or your name, so you were definitely not in Slytherin, though you’re certainly cunning enough for that”

“Maybe I was in the younger years and you don’t remember me” says Harry innocently.

“Hmm, things did get a tad hectic in my last years so it’s entirely possible” he says lightly but his fake nonchalant tone doesn’t fool Harry. They have diligently avoided the War up until now and he knows they thread in dangerous waters right now. “I do have a familiar feeling about you…”

Draco’s running a hand through his white hair and worrying his lips, enraptured in his conjectures. He makes a striking picture with his eternal waistcoat and white shirt ensemble, his silky fringe falling over his lashes, looming over the impossibly intent storm-grey eyes. Warmth pools inside him and washes over Harry’s whole body imperiously. The collar of his own shirt seems suddenly too tight and Harry has to refrain himself from loosening it. He tries to get air in his lungs properly and concentrates on the depressing sky in the tall magic windows.

“So, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are out” Draco goes on. “It leaves me with Slytherin and Gryffindor and by Circe, I should be able to ascertain which one in a second, it’s not as if those Houses have anything in common!”

“To be fair, the Sorting Hat did have a hard time deciding too” he mumbles but Draco throws him a sharp look and Harry feels suddenly very naked. And naked is not what he wants to think about right now.

“Right. I think I’ll leave you with your wild speculations” Harry says too quickly.

“Just when it was getting interesting! You wound me Jean, how cruel of you!” exclaims Draco dramatically.

Harry shrugs apologetically, walking backward to the door.

“I’m far from over with you, I will unveil your secrets” he says ominously, in a low tone and Harry’s chest shouldn’t flutter like that at the implications of the word “unveil” in Draco’s mouth. A tinge of panic rises inside him and he all but flees from the office.

* * *

When Ron’s shift changes Harry takes up the habit of having a drink or two in Draco’s office after their Friday sessions. They talk about small things, debate which Star Wars movies is the best, fight over Quidditch results and compete to see who can come up with the most ludicrous piece of imaginary Ministry gossip while sipping at various wines. Draco felt personally insulted when Harry told him that no, he didn’t know the difference between a _moelleux_ and a _sec_ —which apparently had something to do with white wine— something Draco pledged to fix because he couldn’t “bear the thought of condoning such an outrageous state of affair”. And Harry happily let him, only lightly wincing when the blond added that knowing one’s way around wine was a skill “every proper young woman” should endeavour to master.

They’re sprawled on the armchairs Draco conjures every week in front of the fire. Well, to be fair, Harry is sprawled while Draco is sitting elegantly like the posh git he is, legs crossed, his glass of wine dangling off the tip of his fingers delicately. He’s more relaxed than usual though; half a bottle of wine will have that effect on him Harry has learned. He likes this Draco. He’s more relaxed, softer around the edges. His face is more mobile and his eyes not as unreadable. Harry has obviously zapped out for a while but Draco’s voice snaps him out of it. Even his voice is different on those Friday nights.

“So, do you plan on staying in London when the Golden Boy comes back?” he asks idly. Harry groans at the address and rolls his eyes.

“Could we not talk about _him_ , please?” he says, avoiding the inquisitive grey eyes.

“Merlin, you do loathe him, don’t you?”

“I don’t, it’s just… complicated” Harry says.

“Yeah, Potter does have a way of complicating things, doesn’t he?” he smiles gently “I’m not judging, mind you, it would be utterly hypocritical of me…” Draco chuckles softly “I used to hate him” he adds pensively.

_Used to? Past tense?_

“What made you change your mind?” Harry cannot help but ask.

“It’s complicated” he sighs “turns out it was actually never that simple to begin with, even back then” he says cryptically and smiles another of his fake smile Harry wants to wipe with… something he doesn’t want to think about right now. Draco’s expression turns mischievous and he adds:

“Did you have a thing for the Golden Boy?” Draco teases him gently “That’s why you’re crossed at him! Unrequited love will do that to you, I suppose?”

“What? Hell, no!” Harry exclaims, horrified.

The tall blond laughs frankly at Harry’s outraged expression with this rich laugh that had surprised him those few weeks ago, his head tilted back on the back of his armchair. The fire makes his pale skin of his throat glow golden.

“Ok, I’ll leave the subject of your torrid affair out of our little chats from now on, I wouldn’t want to rub salt in your tragic wounds”

“You’re hopeless” Harry grumbles crossly, felling his blush blooming on his face hotly “You’re just bored and taking the piss at me as a distraction”

“Why, Jean, you know me so well already” Draco sighs deeply, sending Harry a fond smile.

Harry’s stomach flips and he drains his glass in one go.

* * *

Later, Harry wakes up curled up on the armchair like a child. Someone covered him with a blanket and a fuzzy thing aches inside him at the thought. He cannot recall the last time he received this type of attention. When he looks around him, the wine still buzzing pleasantly in his head, his eyes fall on Draco. The blond is fast asleep on the armchair he transfigured in some kind of a comfortable looking chaise longue. His white hair is fanning around his head in a golden halo glowing with the dying lights from the fire, his patrician features more serene than Harry ever saw them. He’s lying on his side, one of his hands hanging over the edge of the piece of furniture in a loose and carefree position. His waistcoat is nowhere to be seen and the white shirt, now irrevocably wrinkled, hugs his lean frame and back muscles closely. The fuzzy things inside Harry’s chest melts, aches and tightens all at once in a painful yet warm sort of way.

With a flick of his will, the fluffy blanket wraps around Draco who smiles lightly.

 _Well, fuck_ , thinks Harry in a drunken haze and he knows that somehow, he is more lucid now than he has been in a while in this room.

# Chapter 5

When Harry strides in Draco’s office the following Wednesday, he sees the tall blond in a state of fury he has never seen before. He can almost feel his magic crackling in the air.

“Well if it deranges you that much, I reckon I’m doing something right then!” Draco fumes “Because as far as I’m concerned, _you_ are the disgrace of this family!”

“How dare you, you filthy-” a magically distorted voice seethes through the fireplace.

“I certainly don’t have time for another one of your lectures about my deviant ways, what a poor excuse for a son I am, my general unworthiness or whatever else you had planned!

“DRACO! Don’t you dare-”

“I’m not afraid of you anymore, Lucius” the pale blond says coldly and cuts the communication. He stands in front of the extinguished fire, fists clenched, shaking. Draco slowly exhales and grips the mantelpiece until his knuckles look like they’re going to leave imprints on the hard wood. His whole body is vibrating with fury; Harry can see it from where he stands, frozen.

Draco’s skin is deathly pale, it barely stands out from his crisp white shirt. His face tilts up and he looks at his reflection in the mirror, his grey eyes full of swirling ghosts. The scenes suddenly reminds Harry so strongly of that day in sixth year that his stomach rolls, filling his mouth with saliva as he is invaded by nausea.

Soon, Draco will see him in the glass and the spells will crackle on the tiled walls. Water will be everywhere; sullied, reddened by blood and as cold as death. Harry is trapped. He can’t move, he can’t breathe. Something dark is coming and he feels helpless. He can’t stop it. He couldn’t back then and he still can’t.

Then Draco’s pure features twist into a dark mask of violent rage. _That’s it. It’s happening again._

The tall man with white hair snaps into action and hits the glassy surface with his closed fist, as fast as a snake, breaking the spell. A rain of silver-dark broken shards fall around him, his fists clench again and blood trickles from the one he hurt against the glass.

Harry finally snaps out of it and gasps audibly in the heavy silence. Draco spins round and his hard eyes fall on Harry, standing in the doorway. Dozens of emotions flash on his pale face, too fast for Harry to grasp it, he finally remembers how his throat works.

“Erm… I’m sorry. This is a bad time, I-I’ll come back” he stutters and his voice is so wrong.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry, this was highly unprofessional, my apologies” this impressive façade of his is back, only displaying a neutral apologetic expression and Harry wants to scream, because it’s the kind Malfoy wears with Potter every time they cross paths and this is wrong too. Because now Malfoy is Draco and Harry doesn’t want this cold-polite-not-really-there ersatz of the blond.

Draco sighs, startling him out of his inner turmoil.

“I should explain myself, I-”

“No need” says Harry more brusquely than he intended and steps in the room. “We all have bad days” he smiles tentatively.

Draco looks at him and the grey eyes lock his with such intensity that Harry is seized by the irrational fear that Draco can see past the disguise.

The tall blond then visibly deflates and leans on a table weakly. Harry breathes an internal sigh of relief. In a gesture of helplessness, Draco rakes a hand through the white hair and smear blood in the silvery strands.

“That looked like an unpleasant chat” says Harry lightly.

Draco raises a brow sarcastically and his dry tone contrasts with the subtle twitch of his corner lip.

“You could say that” he scoffs.

“You hurt yourself” Harry points out.

“Hmmm? Oh yeah, right” answers Draco distractedly, not even looking at his hand.

“Let me take a look” says Harry and takes his hand carefully, his heart beating hard in his chest.

After his literal wake-up call the previous Friday, he has spent the whole weekend freaking out about those feelings he doesn’t know what to do with. And now that the bloody elephant in his brain has been acknowledged, he feels completely vulnerable, brittle, ready to break at the first provocation. He doesn’t know what to do.

To make matters worse, he has received an owl from Parson, telling him that he and Hermione finally cracked his case. Of course she has, she’s a bloody genius that one. Not even a dark curse etched into a antique obscure knife could resist her. He should be back in his own body in a few days according to them. Harry has been lying awake, clearly unable to know how he is feeling about it. And trying to figure out what he is going to do about those feelings once the curse is gone. When Hermione had showed up the following day, he had pretexted a nasty cold to avoid her. He isn’t anywhere ready to face her yet, she would figure him out in a split second.

Harry swallows and shakes himself. He examines Draco’s wound. It’s clean and not so deep. Harry steps closer to the blond sitting on the table and he’s engulfed in a citrusy scent that stirs something primal inside him. It’s like his brain is under a slowing spell. Everything is painfully slow and intense, like a bright light on eyes that stayed too long in the dark; Draco’s hands are soft on the outside, with oval, opalescent nails and a fine dusting of silvery-golden hair from the wrist up. His palms are a bit rough though, he must fly often or maybe it’s all the fiddling with all of his mysterious contraptions. He clears his throat.

Harry wandlessly cleans it and casts a healing spell, and hears Draco’s sharp intake of breath. He doesn’t meet the grey eyes he senses on his face where heat blooms under his skin.

“So, is wandlessly fixing up stupid people hurting themselves a hobby of yours?” asks the blond and Harry cannot help the shiver at his velvety tone “Because I have to say you seem fairly talented in that domain.”

“Not really, the ability of a quick wandless healing charm is straight up handy for an Auror” Harry answers slowly “though I can make exceptions for special cases” he adds boldly before he chickens out. His pulse is through the roof and he can feel the warmth radiating from Draco’s skin, carrying his sharp, tangy scent.

He finally looks up to find molten silver pools raptly fixed on him.

“Is that so?” Draco murmurs.

“You have blood in your hair” says Harry and steps between Draco’s parted legs. His chest brush Draco’s and send spikes of arousal through his whole body. He cannot believe his own audacity, it’s like he has been dosed with an insanity potion.

Draco’s breath is as shallow as his and his eyes widen then shut when he slips one of his hands through the silky white strands. He’s beautiful, all cutting planes and a razor-sharp jawline Harry wants to lick. His lips are full and barely parted; Harry is transfixed by the plush flesh so close, so edible. When his lips press Draco’s, it’s a very destabilizing and dizzying experience. After a surprised gasp, the blond kisses back slowly, sensuously and Harry is lost. His borrowed body responds merrily and waves of desire crash through him, making him fell apart.

When they finally part, Draco looks confused and aroused at the same time.

“I normally don’t… go for women…” he starts and Harry’s heart sinks, humiliation and disappointment stinging more than he could imagine it would. He steps back and starts to stammer an apology but Draco grabs his arms and stops him. His touch burns him through the thin layer of clothes. The grey eyes search his and pierce through him again with that same impossible intensity.

“… but there’s something about you, Jean… and it’s driving me mad” he whispers. He releases Harry’s arm but doesn’t let go of him, instead Draco starts tracing his fingers on his arm, then shoulder and back.

Harry knows he should stop. He knows this is wrong, he knows he has pushed it too far already; he knows Draco would never do this if he knew who he really is but he cannot think. His head is full of grey lustful eyes, the smell of lemons and Draco’s intoxicating presence. So when he leans forward and kisses him again, Harry lets him in and revels in the fiery sensations that the deft tongue awakens in him.

He moans and his voice is still wrong, he still feels like he’s wearing someone else’s body but for a brief moment, he doesn’t care. He just wants. He wants this man desperately.

So he presses himself against the hard pale body and grips his tensed thighs through the fabric of his fancy trousers. Draco groans, making Harry’s blood race inside his veins.

Harry’s drunk, drugged, under a spell, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care, he just wants. Every fibre of his being is filled with want and need.

“Draco, please…” he hears himself say in Draco’s mouth. They’re both panting. Draco’s cheeks are blushed and his eyes dark with lust.

“Tell me what you want…” he says in a low voice.

“You, I want you”

Draco moans and kisses him harder, his hands are roaming on his back and hips hungrily. When Harry tugs his shirt out of his trousers and slips his hands on the hot skin of his back, he lets out a feral growl and steps away from the table, holding Harry by his hand towards the fire. A breathless incantation and a flash of green flames later, they’re snogging frantically in a small living room. Draco doesn’t even switch the light on.

“Do you want to…?” he asks between messy kisses with a concerned and hesitant expression.

“Yeah, yes” agrees Harry. They fumble their way through a pleasant bedroom with light tones. Draco lays Harry down on the covers and undresses him slowly, tenderly, kissing him lazily. Harry feels like he’s going to pass out from the frustration if it lasts any longer but he can’t seem to gather his wits enough time to say anything coherent. When Harry’s been divested from his shirt and trousers, he avidly drinks in the sight of Draco undressing until only his tight black pants are left. He’s stunning. The pale flesh is taut and compliments the slender frame beautifully. His movements are graceful and with his hair set alight by moonlight, he looks like an otherworldly creature, a fay stranded on earth.

“Merlin, you’re hot” he blurts out and Draco’s lips stretch in a little surprised smile that breaks something in his chest. The blond kneels on the bed and a stray ray of moonlight catches the shiny scar that mars his chest. It’s like someone kicked Harry in the stomach. The nausea comes back in a split second as his mind is invaded once more by flashes of the sordid scene in the girls bathroom.

His stomach flips again and he closes his eyes for a second. When he opens again, Draco’s smile has faltered and he has a sad smile and resigned expression. Impulsively, Harry stands on his knees and takes his mouth in a bruising kiss. Draco kisses him back and grabs handfuls of his black hair. Delicious shivers travel across Harry’s body in an instant, he moans softly and touches Draco’s torso, exploring the beautiful pale flesh.

“Can I touch you?” Draco asks softly.

“Yes” hisses Harry. He then gathers all the courage he can muster and lets go of the two pieces of his underwear. They’re still facing each other on their knees and Draco starts by kissing his neck, teasing him with that wicked tongue of his. His hands start brushing the sensitive flesh of his nipples and Harry bites his lips to stifle a whimper. Bloody hell, that he can definitely get used to.

Harry’s fingers stroke the bulge in Draco’s black pants and a surge of want coils around his spine when he finds the hard flesh twitching under his touch. Draco hisses and his hot breath raise goose bumps on Harry’s skin. The soft flesh between his legs is already slicked with how bad he wants him, mixed with his apprehension. But he wants this way too much to let that stop him, Harry realizes.

He lies back on the bed, leading Draco on top of him.

“Take it off” he whispers, tugging at the pants. Draco complies adroitly and what they’re about to do gets very very real.

But Draco kisses him again and his brain shuts down. He is semi-conscious of the spells Draco uses to protect themselves but plunges again in something close to a trance when Draco’s fingers work him open, keeping him on the edge of coming for what feels like hours, his mouth still capturing Harry’s in a sultry dance.

“Are you ready?” asks Draco with a low voice, nipping at his jaw.

Harry nods, not really trusting his voice at the moment. His apprehension comes back. It cannot be that far from bottoming though, he reasons, but it’s not like he did that many times. Apart from a bit of playing with toys, no one ever breached him. Then again he never breached anyone either. Draco must have picked up on the turn in his thoughts because he says:

“Are you sure? It’s perfectly alright if we stay on safer grounds, you know”

For a second, Harry is tempted to say yes but if it’s the only time he can have this, Harry wants to take anything he can before it’s over.

“Yes, I’m sure… Just… go slowly” he says quickly, cheeks burning. Draco smiles again and covers his body with the long line of his. He kisses Harry again soothingly and the Gryffindor opens his legs wider instinctively, kissing him back with an urgency that surprises him.

“Don’t worry” Draco murmurs “I’ll make it good for you, so good…”

His words conjure fire in Harry’s loins and he moans. He feels the hard flesh nudging against him and tries to relax. Draco slides in gently, inch by inch, rocking his hips slowly.

Harry arches the body that knows better than himself what to do and lets it take control.

He was wrong. It’s completely different than bottoming but _Godric_ , it’s clearly not all bad. He feels the same sensation of being filled but that’s about it for the resemblance. After a few back and forth motions, Draco hits a spot somewhere and Harry cries out in pleasure.

“Mmhhh, I just want you to enjoy this, I want you to scream with how good it feels…” says Draco with a rough voice.

Harry feels is orgasm build up fiercely, completely out of his control and his nails sinks in the skin of Draco’s back, his hips raising from their own volition to meet him for every stroke. The white-blond gets the message and thrusts faster as desperate noises tumble from Harry’s mouth.

“Draco… Oh” he sobs and his back arches as if he’s being electrocuted when a surge of white-hot pleasure explodes in his skull and rakes every inch of his body. A short while later, Draco buries his head in his neck and comes silently, all his muscles contracting at once. He inhales deeply then rolls on the side so as not to crush Harry beneath his weight.

Harry’s still high from his climax and he has trouble forming a coherent thought. He turns to face Draco and watches him contentedly. Draco turns his head and looks at him, his steel-grey eyes are bright and for once, he doesn’t look out of his reach. He’s here, real, flesh and blood and they just shared something so intimate it swells inside Harry’s chest. But it soon crashes down when he realizes it’s not true. Jean and Draco shared it. Not him.

With a violence that takes him completely by surprise, Harry wishes it was him and not Jean lying here with Draco; him that Draco watches with this softness and this thing that makes his insides turn into mush every time he gets a glimpse of it.

Once again, Draco seems to read his mood. He shuffles closer and takes him in his arms.

“Come here… Are you alright?” he asks gently.

“Yes” answers Harry, lying through his teeth “So, have you ever been with… you know… women before?” he asks to distract Draco and because he’s curious. The tall blond chuckles.

“Yeah, a few times but I was too young and I did it for bad reasons” he says with a fond smile “it was a bloody disaster”

“Oh” is all Harry says.

“But not this time” says Draco softly, brushing his cheek so tenderly Harry aches.

“No, not this time…” he whispers back and snuggles closer to him, hiding his bleak thoughts. He lets Draco soothe him with the soft rhythm of his breathing and the gentle caresses on his back.

‘Still a few days’, Parson’s letter had said. He was going to make the most of it and damn the consequences, he was already in too deep anyway.

Soon they both drift away, in a messy tangle of sweaty limbs.

* * *

When Harry wakes up, he’s alone. He hears someone busy in the kitchen and smiles.

Harry stretches leisurely, smelling himself and Draco on the sheets and feels a mixture of guilt, sadness and elation at the memory. Arousal is there too as he reminisce and if he can feel himself blushing like a thirteen years old Hufflepuff, he’s rapidly too turned on to care. Still drowsy but now decidedly horny, he slides his right hand under the white linen and wraps his fingers around the hard flesh. He strokes it lazily, reliving the pleasant debauchery of the previous night when it hits him like a bludger in the face.

Harry gropes around for his glasses, puts them on and jumps on his feet, completely freaking out. He rushes to the tiny bathroom adjourned to the bedroom and plants himself in front of the mirror to confirm what is already fairly obvious at this point.

Blue eyes look right back, the spell hasn’t worn off. He’s still flushed from his earlier thoughts and his cock is throbbing. His cock. Fucking hell, this is real; he’s a guy again. And the timing couldn’t be worse. Of course it had to happen this way. Because that’s how his life works, isn’t it? Harry takes steadying breaths, trying not to have a panic attack; it would really not be of any help at this point.

His eyes take in the purple marks on his neck and he feels sick. Merlin, what in hell did he do? What did he do to Draco?

Harry briefly considers apparating out of the apartment but discards the idea as soon as it has crossed his mind. He owes Draco the truth, that’s the least he can do after what he did. He’s going to kill him but he deserves that, and then some.

He has to tell him, to explain. But how? What the fuck is he going to say?

‘ _Hi it’s me, Harry, your school nemesis and the person you despise the most in the country. Yeah, funny story, I kinda tricked you into believing I was someone else then had sex with you. Oh and I think I probably fancy you as well, want some milk with your tea_?’

Yeah, Harry could see that going just perfectly well.

Having made a decision grounds him somehow though. He cancels the spells concealing his eyes and scar, goes back to the bedroom and transfigures his clothes back to their original state. It’s lucky he wasn’t wearing Hermione’s clothes last night. _Thank Merlin for small mercies._

Harry braces himself and grips his wand, acutely aware he’s going to get hexed in a matter of minutes. For a second, it reminds him of when he went to the Forbidden Forest. He squashes a hysterical need to laugh at his own melodramatic tendencies. Still, there’s a fair chance he might end up dead on the kitchen floor of his former school-rival-turned-lover —so very Shakespearian— so he thinks he’s entitled to a bit of drama.

He takes a last inhale and steps into the kitchen. Draco is turned away from him, frying eggs and bacon in a pan. He’s only wearing pastel blue pyjama pants and Harry zaps out for a second, admiring his lean figure and the muscles rippling under the pale skin. On the small on his back, Harry sees the small indents his nails left there earlier and his stomach churns. That little detail brings all at the surface and he’s verging on having a meltdown, right here, right now. God, he’s not ready for this, he’s not ready to lose that, he’s not ready to lose him, he’s not-

“Do you want coffee or te-“ Draco turns to face him and stops mid-sentence. The mug he was holding crashes on the floor, projecting tea and broken pieces of porcelain everywhere but not one of them moves.

“P-P-Potter…?” he stammers, shell-shocked “What are you doing here? How did you come in? What the fuck is this about???”

And that expression is back, that Malfoy mask Harry hates. Draco’s back to Malfoy, he’s back to Potter and Harry is not sure he can handle that after months of getting closer and closer. It’s as if all the air in his lungs has been sucked out. He can’t stop staring at Draco in silence, unable to speak, desperately looking for words that won’t come.

Then Draco’s eyes fall on his clothes and on his neck, no doubt closing in on the love bites that grace his neck, the ones he made himself.

Harry can see the cogs turning in his mind and desperation finally breaks him out of his tetanic state.

“Draco, please… I can explain, just sit down a minute…” he pleads.

Draco’s face drains from all colour, hurt paints his features and his eyes shut tightly. When he opens them again, they are hollow, empty. It’s like seeing him slip in the void inside and Harry wants to die on the spot for what he did to him.

“God, how could I be so stupid…” Draco chuckles darkly, raking his hand in his hair like he did the day before.

“Draco, please…” Harry begs.

But the shutters are back. His face is as cold and blank as a marble statue.

“What do you want now, Potter?” he spits out his name like it’s an insult and Harry flinches at the venom in his tone “You had your fun, you humiliated me, now you can go back to your Gryffindor friends and gloat or go to the papers for all I care”

“What? No, Draco, that’s not-” Harry starts desperately.

“Don’t you dare calling me that” Draco cuts him off, seething. Hard cold eyes pin him to the spot. Inside the steel-grey irises, Harry sees such intense and unadulterated hatred that he stumbles back as if Draco had punched him.

“I think you should leave” he says harshly, his voice blood-freezing cold.

“Please, let me explain…” Harry begs.

Then Draco’s mask slips once more and reveals the pain and betrayal swirling inside.

“Haven’t you done enough?” he sounds wrecked, almost pleading, and Harry flees.

* * *

The following weeks, Draco avoids him like the plague. If Harry wasn’t such a wreck about it, he would admire his skills, the man has pushed it to an art form at this point. His flat and office are warded against him (with spells so intricate and powerful –and not entirely legal- that maybe even Bill Weasley would have trouble breaking through) as well as his home and ministry floo addresses. All his letters come back unopened (even the official ones) and setting up camp in front of Draco’s office hasn’t worked even a tiny bit so far, but Harry stubbornly keeps it up.

He can’t seem to find him anywhere else in the ministry even after he pulled a few strings to get his calendar. Sometimes, being the Chosen One does have its perks but Harry feels dirty and he’s getting desperate. Lurking around the places Draco’s supposed to meet colleagues has lead to nothing.

He even paid a visit to the Manor. It was an entirely unpleasant experience and not only because of the fact that the he last time he was here, Hermione was tortured and Dobby killed. To make matters worse, the stilted and awkward conversation he holds with Narcissa Malfoy earns him nothing more than the information that Draco hasn’t answered his parents’ contacts since his fight with Lucius (Harry may have mentioned it was Auror business and made half-veiled threats in passing to get the information).

In desperation —and because she has figured out something was wrong the first second she saw him— Harry tells everything to Hermione. He braces himself for an excruciating lecture but it never comes. Hermione is clearly not happy with him but Harry suspects he looks so wretched she doesn’t really have it in her to give him the thorough and crucifying dressing-down he deserves. It may come later though, Harry muses.

But even Hermione comes short on the solution/miraculous ideas/last resorts front and that’s when Harry starts to give up. He mourns the time he used to spend with Draco, the easy banter, the teasing. He misses his cutting tongue and his humour; the way he lits up every time he talks about one of his projects; the way he gets passionate and makes long and fierce monologues to defend a movie he liked; the way his lips twitch when Harry says something funny but he pretends to be unimpressed to rile him up; the way they work together and complement each other; and the list goes on, painfully so.

Harry misses him so much it’s like a constant jab in his gut. He’s useless at work and gets re-assigned to desk duty when he almost blows up an entire block out of frustration because a suspect slipped out.

But the worst is the guilt. He constantly replays Draco’s wrecked expression in his head, torturing himself at night until the wee hours of the morning.

Sometimes, he just can’t go back to his big empty house for another session of self-loathing so he practices another type of self-pity. He goes to muggle pubs to drown his sorrows in a few tumblers of whisky like a sad-cliché-casually-alcoholic character from a detective movie. Or he walks in the streets of London until he doesn’t feel his limbs. Or he puts the invisibility cloak on and waits in front of Draco’s flat. He knows how pathetic it looks but he can’t help it.

# Chapter 6

When Draco comes back to his office after an excruciating meeting with colleagues on the sodding budget –said meeting standing as the crown jewel of the three shittiest weeks he has had in a very long time- his mood isn’t exactly at his best and he would be happy to hex anything on sight. Instead, he takes measured intakes of oxygen and curses inwardly all those sodding bureaucrats that have obviously way too much free time on their hands while he marches to his office in the dark corridor.

Suddenly, he has the eerie feeling that something is not right. A prickle of unease trails down his spine, waking dark old memories of dried blood, biting metal and rough stone. He casts a small lighting spell and all but jumps when it reveals the slumped form of Harry bloody Potter in rumpled Auror robes, sitting on the ground and staring at the wall facing him. He looks utterly miserable and has obviously been waiting here for hours.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Draco snarls with a high pitch that betrays his near heart attack but Potter doesn’t answer and keeps staring at the wall.

“Potter, what are you doing here?” Draco asks again. Despite what he did to him and the seething anger (and the pain but Draco won’t admit it under Crucio) that has been burning inside him for weeks, Draco’s starting to worry. After all, the git’s sanity has always been questionable at best and with everything that happened since he was a teenager, he’s fairly entitled to flip the lid at any given moment. Shame it has to be on his office’s doorstep.

He should call Granger, she’ll know what to do with her mental case of a friend and Draco doesn’t see himself carrying Potter to St Mungo’s alone. He’s too heavy for one and Draco knows how powerful and erratic his magic is – he pushes down the thrill of desire that snakes through him at the memory of his wandless magic, it’s not the time for Christ’s sake!- and he will certainly abstain from getting himself on the receiving end of a magical rendition of the bombing of Nagasaki, thank you very much.

Potter finally interrupts his musings and speaks. His voice cracks and he sounds completely wrecked.

“I think I’m in love with you”

After a moment –or several millennia– of shocked silence, Draco finally gets his mouth to work again and form words. Anger starts to creep inside his belly and the embers that were still alight flare to life again.

“Are you fucking drunk?” he asks hardly.

How dare he do that to him, after everything… after…

“No, I’m not drunk, Draco…” Potter says in a dispirited hollow tone. A pang shoots through the white-blond’s chest at the sound of his name in the wretched mouth.

“So you came here to have a little meltdown about how unfair life is, then?” Draco shoots back acidly. He steps back warily when Potter gets on his feet, surprisingly quickly. He does look like a wreck but in this moment, Draco aches for him so hard that it hurts. The vibrant green eyes display something so raw and intense Draco is compelled to it somehow.

“No. I just needed to at least tell you” he pauses, as if hesitating for what to say next.

“I know I have no right to ask you to trust me-”

Draco laughs darkly, a nasty throaty sound.

“-but I swear on my parents’ grave that I didn’t… It was real, Draco. I couldn’t tell you who I was… Look I was cursed, I didn’t want to trick you into it… I just wanted… I knew if that was me you’d never…” his voice faltered.

 _If only you knew_ , thinks Draco darkly.

“I know I took advantage of you and I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“And yet, that’s exactly what you did” he say hardly “what did you expect would happen? That I would laugh about it and tell the story to my grand-children?”

Harry recoils at the bitter words.

“No, Draco I… I didn’t plan on… I just couldn’t stop myself… I’ve fallen in love in you.” He says miserably and falls silent.

Draco takes a moment to collect himself, he doesn’t want to sound hysterical but it’s exactly how he feels.

“What do you want from me?” he asks dryly.

Potter laughs an insane laugh, running his hands through his hair like a mad man.

“Believe me, there’s a lot I want from you, but that’s not why I’m here. I just owed you the truth”

He looks at him intently but seems to flinch at what he sees on his face.

“I just needed to tell you, that I’m sorry. That I didn’t do it on purpose or to trick you. I just… got caught up in my feelings for you even if I shouldn’t have” he pauses and averts his eyes, adding in a quiet voice “I’ll leave you alone from now on.”

His face is blank and shuttered but Draco sees the pain and for a fleeting moment he believes him.

Potter steps past him and leaves him alone in the dark corridor, his head a mess of crazy questions painfully buzzing around in his skull, making his head spin.

* * *

Draco finally enters his office and let himself fall in his chair. And thinks, hard. About blue eyes that turned green but are still as ardent and searching as they were for him then. About petty rivalries and heavy decisions that turned things around, a lifetime ago. About buried thoughts and dammed up feelings, shattered hopes and fleeting glances. About foolish hopes and brutal awakenings.

Draco sighs and grips his hair until it hurts and tears of pain fill his grey eyes.

* * *

Grimmauld Place, being in a Muggle residential neighbourhood and all, is a relatively quiet area. But it doesn’t last when a wild Draco verging-on-Berzerk apparates in front of number 12 and starts pounding on the door in the middle of the night.

A few minutes later, a bewildered Potter wearing only plaid pyjama trousers and a tattered old t-shirt of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers opens the door. His deep green eyes widen as he takes in the mussed state of Draco. He must look absolutely crazy but in this moment he doesn’t give a shit.

“I don’t want you to leave me alone” says Draco, as surprised as Potter by his words.

“W-What?” asks Potter, obviously in a state of deep confusion. Potter’s t-shirt has a hem so tired his collarbones show. It’s a distracting sight.

Draco doesn’t answer. Before his frazzled nerves betray him —and in an appalling fit of uncharacteristic Gryffindorishness— he throws himself at Potter for a rough, hungry kiss that makes his body sing with relief.

After a split second of total unresponsiveness that makes Draco question everything and think he got it all wrong again, Potter kisses him back and all conscious thought flies out of his head. It’s raw, fierce and desperate at the same time, fulfilling an urge so strong and primal that it makes him dizzy.

Potter melts under him, moaning in his mouth and threading shaking fingers in his hair as if he just quite can’t believe this is real. Draco feels as if he’s drunk with the heady feel of Potter falling apart against him.

It’s nothing like it was the last time they got together. That time he was all careful and controlled, thoughtful and hesitant with inexperience. Potter/Jean was responsive but shy and probably apprehensive at the time, thinks Draco retrospectively. But this time, he lets it all out: the anger, the betrayal, the pain; but also the feelings he has repressed for too long. More than anything, he unchains the unadulterated want awaken by Potter’s hard body pressed against his and his blood roars with it.

Potter gives as good as he gets and they’re soon both heavily panting, completely dishevelled and extremely frustrated by the layers of clothing slowing them down and preventing skin on skin contact.

“D’you want to come in?” asks Potter when they come to the surface to gasp some air with a voice like gravel that sends spikes of desire in Draco. His eyes are too green and glassy, his lips swollen by their furious kiss. Draco resents any second he’s not making him loose it under his touch but he can see the appeal of a secluded space where they could take their frenzied embrace instead of the sodding street in the middle of the night.

“I might be persuaded” Draco says breathlessly in a pitiful attempt at nonchalance. A feral glint flares in the vibrant green orbs, fanning a similar blaze in his loins. The white-blond man somehow finds it in him to smirk seductively and apparently snap the last strain of self-control Potter possessed in the process –then again, the Golden Boy was never greatly endowed in this regard.

Potter snatches him by his front robes with one hand and opens the door with a flick of his will, stretching out the strong wards like mere fabric to allow them passage, quicker that way, if barbarian. Still, Draco shivers at the easy use of silent wandless magic, as if it is nothing to the man.

But Draco doesn’t have much time to ponder on the matter because Potter manhandles him inside and a second later he’s pressed up against the door and kissed —or rather devoured— by Potter’s greedy mouth.

“Merlin, I want you so much…” he groans against the skin of his neck, then sucks his way to his jaw, making Draco’s knees go weak.

When the Gryffindor starts to grind his hips against Draco’s, his pace picks up again, he’s already painfully hard and straining against his restricting work robes.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you fucking me” Potter says roughly, and the Slytherin’s breath hitches. Potter, having finally managed to unbutton his robes, now turns his attention on his belt.

“Yeah, well… I suppose it’d be only polite of me to return the favour” he manages feebly despite Potter’s distracting ministrations.

The Gryffindor doesn’t answer but fall on his knees and promptly takes Draco’s throbbing cock in the hot wetness of his mouth and hums delightedly.

“Fuck!” gasps Draco, slipping his hands in the unruly jet-black mane. Bloody Hell, who would’ve thought the Saviour of the Wizarding World would be this good at sucking cock? After an embarrassingly short amount of time, Draco exclaims:

“P-Potter… Potter, stops!” Draco’s already dangerously close to release, he tugs the black hair back and makes the Gryffindor stand up again. He kisses him brutally and tastes himself of the wicked tongue.

“Unless you want to shag in the hallway, I suggest a strategic move towards the nearest workable horizontal surface”

Honestly, it’s a miracle he can even conjure up a sentence this long with Potter so hell-bent on making him go round the twist.

“Hold on” he says huskily and a tingle of pure magic later, they’re in a high-ceilinged bedroom that smells the spicy scent Draco associates with Potter. The broad-shouldered Auror takes off his waistcoat with impatient movements and rips his shirt, touching and tasting every inch of the skin he uncovers. Draco manages to extirpate himself long enough to take his old shirt off and takes a second to study the half-naked man standing in front of him.

His skin is golden and marred by dozens of silvery marks that trace his tumultuous history. Potter has filled out over the years; he now has a strong body with a taut and wiry musculature that replaced the scrawny figure of his adolescence. He’s still sharp though and his body possesses a rugged sort of beauty that transfixes Draco.

The silver-blond finally notices the rigidity of his posture. Potter’s shoulder line is tense; his jaw clenched, chin tilted up in what looks like brazen challenge. His eyes though, tell the real story. He’s obviously feeling embarrassed about his body.

“It’s not much, but it’s yours if you want it” Potter says evenly. It’s such a text-book example of Gryffindorish sappy bravado that Draco would laugh if it didn’t make him feel so humbled and privileged at once. Potter looks so vulnerable yet so defiant in this moment that something churns inside Draco’s chest.

“My turn” he says simply and finishes to undress himself. Harry’s eyes map his body with unabashed want. But his face darkens when they fixate on the diagonal scar that goes from throat to hip. Draco remembers when Jean flinched at the sight last time. He had attributed it to horror, he was used to it, but now he understands better the afflicted look on her face.

Potter traces it with shaking fingers, looking wretched. Draco presses his hand on his chest to make him feel his heart beating underneath and Potter closes his eyes.

“We all have scars” Draco murmurs, kissing his neck “we all made mistakes. But it’s over now, it was a long time ago”

He swallows hard and Draco presses his lips against his mouth slowly, coaxing his lips open, licking into his mouth until the Auror exhales an unsteady breath.

Draco suddenly feels a violent need to touch him, to somehow make sure it is real, being here with him, kissing in his bedroom.

Potter gasps when his fingers brush his torso, exploring his chest. He grazes a nipple that instantly hardens and a trail of gooseflesh follow in its wake. The kiss turns heated once more, Potter claiming his mouth in a bruising kiss.

He walks backwards until he reaches the bed and Draco pushes him back, making him sit on the bed. He then straddles him and run his hands through Potter’s hair once more, savouring the caress of the soft locks of black hair. Potter moans and runs possessive hands on his back and shoulder blades, dragging him closer but Draco resists.

He slips a clever hand between them, snakes his way under the elastic band and wraps his fingers around the twitching hard shaft. Potter lets out a startled moan, half-buried in his throat and his head tilts backwards. Carefully, Draco takes Potter cock out of the offending garment and starts stroking him leisurely. The sight of Potter, all hot and bothered, with his head fallen back in pleasure and his lips parted is truly a vision.

He takes both of their cocks in hand and continues his slow strokes. Potter groans at the contact then it’s Draco’s turn to be startled when his hand is suddenly coated with a cool and slick familiar substance.

“Well, aren’t you resourceful…” he says admiringly and Potter smiles. It’s such an easy, open smile that Draco almost looses it here and there.

He speeds up his rhythm and squeezes a bit harder, Potter tenses and groans again. But apparently he has had it because he brusquely stands up with Draco safely in his arms, turns around and lays him down on the bed gently. He takes his trousers off, crawls over him and settles between his legs, pressing the long hard line of his body against Draco who shivers at the contact of the burning skin.

“You’re so beautiful” mumbles Potter between kisses on his chest, then catches a nipple in his mouth and teases it with his tongue. Draco arches his back and moans deeply then whimpers when Potter’s mouth continue on his way. When the full lips curl around his shaft moments later though, he finds that Potter will be forgiven if he keeps up with the good work. He looses his train of thought for a moment there and gasps when slicked fingers tease the sensitive skin of his entrance. Potter’s tongue continues its wonders and a finger slips in soon enough, brushing, caressing, teasing the bundle of nerves buried inside. Potter has obviously done this before or maybe he’s a natural at both slaying Dark Lords and making guys loose their bloody minds. Another finger joins the first ad scissors him from the inside while the delicious suction caries on without a hitch. Draco is reduced to a sorry heap of mush by that point and he’ll probably be ashamed of how he writhes and moans later. But now he’s just contemplating abandoning all dignity and begging Potter for his cock.

At the precise moment he opens his mouth, Potter covers it with his own. He’s obviously as turned on as Draco is and asks:

“You want me now?” His voice is like gravel.

“Hell, yes” is Draco’s instant reply. He almost cries with joy when he feels the tip of his cock nudging the tight ring of muscles. Potter finally breaches him and pushes in excruciatingly slowly.

“More” demands Draco.

“Are you s-“

“Yesss” hisses the pale blond “fuck me now, please”

“Oh Merlin” says Potter reverently when he slides in and seats himself fully in the quivering hot channel. His arms wrap around Draco and he kisses him softly, almost tenderly, resting on his elbows and trembling between his legs. Draco revels in the sensation of being full and stretched wide open with that familiar mixture of burn and pleasure.

“Draco, fuck, you’re so bloody tight” Potter says in a strained voice.

The blond raises his hips, silently urging him to move and Potter gets the message. He starts thrusting in and out, his breath getting heavier and heavier, more erratic. Then he angles his hips and Draco suddenly sees stars.

“Yes! Oh God, Harry, yes!” the pale blond exclaims, clutching the headboard desperately.

“Like that?” asks Potter with a rough voice, thrusting harder.

“Yes, yes like that, just like that” Draco sobs, his whole body tensed like a bow.

“Draco… You feel so good, so fucking good…” moans the Auror and he looks so far gone and so beautiful like that, his brows knitted in ecstasy and his lips parted again, cheeks flushed. He must have lost his glasses at some point and when he opens his eyes, a sea of verdant green takes Draco away as he jabs one more time into him.

Draco is blinded by his own orgasm, coming hard with Harry’s name on his lips, he comes again and again, coating their bellies with warm ropes of semen.

Potter soon follows him with a deep, throaty sob, his whole body convulsing. He rides out his orgasm, quivering with the force of his aftershocks. Potter is panting hard and he buries his face in the crook off his neck, his arms still tightly secured around him. The pale blond traces soothing imaginary patterns on the powerful back and tries to get his brain cells to start working again.

“You do realize I will feel the need to breathe eventually, right?” teases Draco after a while.

“Sorry” Potter mutters with a shy smile and slips out of him carefully. He then shuffles away and Draco holds back a whimper at the loss of his skin.

“So… Was it… okay for you?” Potter says awkwardly. Salazar, he’s even blushing.

“ ‘Okay’?” Draco scrunches is nose at the word “Yeah, you could say that I suppose” Draco laughs lightly. _Try best shag of his life!_

“And… do you…” he falters and averts his eyes “would you… like to do it again…?”

“Well, not right now! Though I suspect I’ll be up for round two quite shortly” he says lightly. When he sees Harry’s expectant face, he takes pity on him and adds softly:

“Potter, I’m not the kind of person who runs after a shag… or two, for that matter”

Potter beams at him and Draco blinks in what must be a very undignified display.

“But apparently you’re the kind of person who shags twice and still call me by my surname” he chuckles lightly.

“Well, you may have had time to get your head around that, but I wasn’t so lucky”

Potter frowns and an anguished expression paints his features.

“About that...”

“Harry” Draco cuts him off firmly “Just shut up.”

Pot- _Harry_ is clearly startled both by the sudden change of address and his reaction.

“But-“ he tries.

“I’m not staying here listening to you apologize again with your sad puppy face” he says sternly. “First that’s a turn-off (a blatant lie) and second, it’s okay. I forgive you. Obviously, I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Draco cut him off again.

“Yes, I know. And yes, I’m pissed off. But I have far more pleasant things in mind that a re-do of your appalling monologue. By the way, you suck at apologies. It’s fortunate that you have other… talents” says Draco sultrily and Harry’s irises darken instantly.

“I thought you didn’t want to do it again right now?” answers Harry, his voice dropping low and making interesting things happen to his crotch.

“Well, I did say I would be up for another round soon enough. And let’s say you made a compelling case” he says innocently, watching Harry from under his long lashes.

“Your wish is my command” says Harry intently.

This time, Draco’s certain of it, he’s getting hard again. It’s a wonder what the realization of a lifetime fantasy can do to one’s stamina.

“How about this time, I ride your cock?” says Draco sultrily and he’ll be damned but Harry is blushing. Quite violently he might add.

“Come on, you can’t turn all blushing virgin on me after what we’ve just done” Draco teases.

“Well, not anymore…” says Harry quietly and rubs his neck embarrassedly.

Draco freezes at his words.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I should have told you before but it didn’t really come up and I didn’t know if…”

Harry is babbling anxiously and Draco cuts him off with a raised hand.

“Are you telling me you never had sex before?”

“Well, I did when I was Jean, last time, but I’m not sure it counts…”

Draco covered his face with his hands. This what not happening, it couldn’t be.

“Why the fuck is the Golden Boy of Wizarding Britain still a virgin at 24?” he asks aloud in serious disbelief.

“Well, I’ve been busy!” Harry says defensively “Before and during the War it wasn’t exactly the best time and after…” he sighs “I didn’t want people to have sex with me just for who I was. I had a few dates with muggles blokes but it wasn’t the same, there was so much I couldn’t tell them. And… I guess I scared them off with the scars and the nightmares.”

_Oh. Right._

“Fair point” finally says Draco and he looks at Harry’s frown. “It’s not a problem for me, Harry” he says softly, cupping his cheek “I just wish I’d known so I could make it more… I mean, I all but jumped you earlier, that’s no proper way to get started” he says ruefully. Harry kisses him slow and dirty.

“And did you hear me complain?” Harry chuckles “I was just worried I would be bad at it and just blow it”

“Speaking of blow, where did you learn that?”

“I said I never had sex before, it doesn’t mean I’m a prude, you know”

“Lucky me” scoffs Draco. The idea of Harry getting off with strangers is both turning him on and making him feel possessive.

“So, do you care for a little more practice?” says Draco with a seductive tone.

Harry hums in a delighted sound and his green eyes rake over Draco’s body appreciatively.

“Hell, yeah”

With a fluid and practiced move that has more its place in a dojo than in the bedroom, the blond manages to make Harry end up on his back with an undignified yelp, Draco straddling him. He recovers quickly though and starts brushing Draco’s torso with his rough hands but the blond tssks at him. With a flick of his wand that he has miraculously produced out of nowhere, silvery threads as soft as silk wrap around Harry’s wrists and tie themselves to the headboard neatly.

“Ok, no touchy” says Harry uncertainly.

“Believe me, you are going to love it”

“You mean I’m going to love not being able to get my hands on you? I highly doubt it” he says earnestly and Draco’s chest tightens at the mournful tone.

“Trust me. This time, I’ll do all the work and make _you_ fall apart” he murmurs in his ear and starts to undulate his body on him like an ophidian succubus.

“That sounds like a great plan” Harry says faintly, his hips already responding to the entrancing friction.

Draco laves his sensitive spots with a devilish tongue, coaxing helpless sounds from the Auror as he makes his way from his neck to his nipples, hipbone, navel and the inside of his thighs. He grazes his way up the muscle and Harry quivers with want.

“Ngghhh… Draaaco” he moans wantonly when his face brushes the twitching leaking mess that is his cock.

He lets his breath ghost on the throbbing flesh and lets the tip of his cock enter his mouth but is careful not to let it touch any inch of his inside mouth, making Harry writhe and pant desperately on the sheets. Magic crackles on his skin but he reins it in.

Draco’s shaft twitches at the display of raw power and the idea that Draco is the one causing a reaction so strong in one of the most powerful beings of the planet.

He licks a long strip of flesh from the base of the shaft to the tip, letting the bitter tangy-musky taste rolling on his tongue. Harry sighs in pleasure and Draco dips his head lower. When his tongue finds the sensitive patch of skin, Harry shouts in surprise. Draco licks it again, teasing the ring of muscles and the wrinkled skin.

“Oh F-fuck, oh Merlin-fuck…” says Harry in a strangled cry.

Smiling against his skin, Draco’s mouth gets bolder, tonguing, sucking, licking his way inside with fervour, revelling in the incoherent litany of strangled words falling from Harry’s lips.

When he feels Harry’s distraught enough, he turns his mouth on the hard cock looming in his field of vision, lapping at it and curving his tongue and lips around it. He takes him deeper and deeper, welcoming the burning scratch on his throat.

Draco starts prepping himself discreetly, conjuring up lube on his fingers and easing them in one by one. He makes a shamefully quick work of it, all the while continuing his ministrations on Harry’s cock but slower; he wouldn’t want him to come too quickly. It’s a good thing they had sex not so long ago or they wouldn’t last a minute at this rate.

Harry is now growling like a feral beast, his strong and taut muscles rippling under the tanned skin.

“Draco… God I want you so much… More, more, please I want to feel you inside me…”

Draco could come from hearing the gravelly needy words and the sight alone but he breathes deeply, trying to get back on earth.

“We’ll definitely get back to that another time” he shivers at the thought “but for now we’ll focus on your cock getting inside me if that’s okay with you” he purrs. Harry whimpers in answer. What a sight he makes on the already ruined sheets, straining against his bonds like a rabid wolf.

Draco kisses him hard and straddles Harry’s hips again, making his cock rest in the crease of his arse. A slicking spell later, he moves, rubbing Harry’s cock between his cheeks slowly, watching the golden-skinned Auror loosing his mind further and further.

Then Draco just cannot wait a second more; he sinks on Harry’s shaft with a sigh of relief.

“Fucking hell, Draco…” Harry moans, desperately moving to match Draco’s rocking motions “You’re going to drive me fucking crazy…” he trails off, eyes shut tight, forehead wrinkled with tense lines.

“Let me take care of you” Draco soothes, panting “let me… I’ll make it good for you, I’ll make it so good you’re going to scream my name…”

“Yes, yes, please yes, anything you want, God, anything…” his head is thrown back in pleasure and he’s biting his lips to stifle his cries.

Draco is rendered speechless for a moment as the sheer realization sinks in. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. How could he ever get used to this? He frees Harry from his restraints and rocks harder, already close, so fucking close… He arches his back when Harry grips his hips and thrusts in him hard, slamming in him again and again. His strong hands slip and touch him everywhere. One strokes his cock but Draco bats it away.

“I want you to make me come untouched, just with the feel of your cock inside me and nothing else”

Harry growls again and grips Draco’s thighs, hard.

“Merlin Draco, I love you –Aah- I love you so fucking much…!” his black pupils are so wide they have almost swallowed the green and he sounds broken, unravelled, lost. A fraction of second later, he arches his back and raises Draco from the bed with the strength of his orgasm, burying himself until the hilt inside Draco with a choking desperate sound that sounds like his name. He continues to slam into him until Draco’s head falls back, his hands lost inside his own hair and comes violently “Yes, yes! Harry, yes! Oh god, it’s so good…” he sobs as the pleasure rips through him like electric shocks. When his ears stop ringing he looks down at Harry, his glassy vibrant green eyes looking at him like nobody ever looked at him. He’s shaken to his very core by the intensity of those eyes.

Harry sits on the bed and takes him into a tight hug, his breathing erratic and sticky with their mixed sweat and Draco’s come.

“Fuck…” finally says Draco. Harry doesn’t answer, just hugs him tighter and manoeuvres him on his side. He wraps himself around him from behind, burying his face in Draco’s hair. Draco relaxes, letting the drowsy post-orgasmic glow settle around him.

They stay like this for a while, silent, listening to each other’s hearts beating steadily.

“Draco, about the ‘love’ thing…” starts Harry hesitantly.

“Yes?” the blond tenses.

“You don’t have to say anything, I just… wanted to tell you earlier, okay? And when we were… when I just… well I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything, alright? I just… couldn’t keep it in…”

“Harry…”

“No, don’t say anything” he tightens his arms around the blond “I know those things cannot be rushed and with what I did…” his voice cracks a little “I know it’ll take time for you to get there, if you were to I mean, I don’t want to presume anyt-”

“Harry. Listen…” he swallows hard “the thing is, I won’t have to get there because I…” _God that’s hard_. “…already am. I’ve been there for a long time. Years actually.”

“What?”

Draco feels him move and stands on his elbow, looking at him with a bewildered look of utter confusion etched on his face.

“That's the reason why I was so angry in the first place” Draco continues “I have spent the best part of my adult life trying to get over that stupid crush and you come and rub my nose in it as if I could’ve… It was just too much” he shakes his head with a small smile.

“Waow. I don’t even know what to say” says Harry, shell-shocked.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“You mean that… At Hogwarts…? And, after? All this time… You… fancied me?”

“Yes.” Draco sighs “If you want to call it that”

Harry remained silent for a moment.

“And you were the one teasing Jean about ‘unrequited love making people bitter’ or whatever, I can’t believe it!”

“Well, I do have first hand experience on the matter” Draco smirks.

“You’re absolutely unbelievable.”

“Don’t let it get to your over-inflated ego, Scarhead” Draco teases but it soon turns into a squeal when Harry retaliates by tickling him.

When they settle again on the bed in each other’s arms, a devilish smile appears on Harry’s features.

“What is it?”

“I can’t wait to see Ron’s face when he knows” he laughs.

“You’re evil. Pure evil” Draco says admiringly, shaking his head “No wonder I couldn’t find where you were sorted”

“Like I said, even the Sorting Hat had a bit of a hard time choosing between Slytherin and Gryffindor”

“This is a story I absolutely _need_ to hear.”

“Well, it goes like this…”


End file.
